


How to Train your Tiger

by orphan_account



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Eventual Smut, Fluff, Holidays, M/M, Romance, Yuri Plisetsky Swears, freehand, i dont exactly have a plot yet, rating change ahoy, soul searching, tag changes ahoy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-22 07:07:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13161816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Yuri didn't really have time for friends. Victory had been everything he'd ever wanted; the chance to beat his idol and prove to the world that he was the force to be reckoned with. That didn't stop it being a lonely life until one man decided to change that in a park in Barcelona.Otabek knew from the moment he met the Russian in that summer camp years ago that no one else would ever do. Years of training and practice got him to a point he might even one day be able to compete with the Yuri equally. Now all he had to do was win the Tiger's heart.





	How to Train your Tiger

**Author's Note:**

> I know I'm particularly flakey at writing and I'm thoroughly aware of it. I've even had works that I just couldn't keep going as they just didn't fit me.
> 
> This however is possibly my favourite pairing of all. So much opportunity. This will be a joy to write and I hope you enjoy!

It might be a little dramatic to say Yuri's world had shifted on it's axis within the last 48 hours but it was the truth.

He'd done it. He'd won the Grand Prix with one of the highest scores on record, narrowly beating Yuuri Katsuki of Japan into silver with the tiniest of margins. He'd won plenty of competitions before in Junior and senior levels but this...this was entirely different. It was the once in a lifetime moment that comes to all of us, a time when we can define success by a single event. This was it.

Arguably though a more monumental moment came a day before. Such dedication to your career means friends are hard to come by. Sure, the Russian team were friends of a sort but none that he really trusted. Except Victor perhaps but he came with the enormous baggage of being a pain in the ass. No, Yuri Plisetsky had deliberately kept people at arms lenght.

Otabek didn't really provide him with that option. Rescuing him from the manic fans, Otabek was like a knight in shining armour as he sat astride the motorcycle clad in leather. Yuri had quickly learned that Otabek had a propensity for bluntness. And just like that, he'd made the first real friend in years.

"This fucking collar is still to big," Yuri pouted at the mirror, tearing the shirt from his body. He was at that age where clothes that fit perfectly were very hard to find. Fittingly Yakov had thought to provide a selection of formal items for him to chose from. He rummaged around in the suit case and picked out another shirt and tie combination.

The banquet really wasn't his thing but it was an opportunity to actually sit down for a proper talk with his newfound friend.

At that precise moment, the door crashed open to reveal an already slightly drunk Victor.

"Yuriooooooo, why aren't you ready yet?" Victor became even more touchy feely when intoxicated and that was the last thing Yuri wanted.

"Ach, get the fuck off me geezer. I thought you were going to the party with the pig?" 

"I was! Then Phichit had other ideas and shushed me away. No idea why..." Victor slouched on the elegant sofa in Yuri's hotel room. It seemed victory hard award him complimentary upgrade to one of the executive suites in the hotel, not that Yuri would any way be guilty of complaining.

Yuri huffed out a chuckle. Victor and Yuuri had no idea that as soon as the impending wedding had been announced, the other skaters had formed an instant messaging group with the sole aim of conducting as much mischief as they possible could. Though he wasn't sure he really wanted in on any of it, Yuri had hesitated to instantly remove himself from the group. Playing tricks on the geezer and katsudon  _would_ give him some amusement.

"Yurio, I heard that laugh. What are they planning," Victor looked at him with an icy expression; that was no question but a demand for answers.

"Pfft, you'll never get it out of me," Yuri flashed him the briefest of exasperated looks. In truth, the conspiratorial band had little time to concoct anything more detailed than 'get Yuuri shit-faced'. Last year, drunk Yuuri had been the talk of the banquet though, frankly, the revelations of last year were pretty much redundant now.

"You're no fun little Yuratchka." Yuri turned, flinging a hairbrush from the dressing table in his direction. "Ow, what have I ever done to you?"

"Been a pain in the ass pretty much forever? Besides, you don't get to call me that geezer." Yuri fussed over the final preparations, deciding that the shirt and tie would have to do. He'd managed to get most of the heavy black makeup from his exhibition piece off his eyes but little smudges still remained just inside his eyelid. The suit was unusually pale grey with a black shirt and a delicate silver tie. It was certainly not the traditional bow tie affair but who cares? Everyone was gonna end up drunk out of their minds by the end of the night anyway. He'd tied his lengthy platinum hair behind him in a deliberately messy pony tail, leaving a portion of his fringe behind tied into a braid.

"Ach, come on. I doubt we can keep you from your darling katsudon anymore," Yuri rolled his eyes dramatically.

The banquet was actually held in the hotel this year. It was a beautiful dining hall, ornate and old filled with period artwork. He was sure the furniture would have been replaced with imitation work but it didn't matter; it was still opulent in the way only older cultures knew how. Victor had barely made it into the room before he spotted his fiancee milling around with a band of his closest friends.

"Yuuriiii, they kept me from you for far too long," Victor swept the blushing Yuuri into his arms and dramatically bent him over, placing a delicate kiss to his cheek. "That suit is criminal by the way."

"Ugh, you two are disgusting," Yuri made no attempt to hide his contempt at their rather overt display of affection, earning a chuckle from the assembled skaters.

"Victor, please. Plenty of time for that later," Yuuri tried his best to calm the always dramatic Victor.

"Even more disgusting." Yuri wrinkled in disdain.

"I think it's cute," Ji Guang-Hong piped up. He already had the rosy cheeks of someone who'd had a glass or two more champagne than perhaps was wise.

"Mon frere, tell us. What of your intention to marry? Though with a score as good as Yuuri's I thought we'd be seeing wedding bells a little sooner, no?" Christophe of course referred to the slim margin that separated the Russian Yuri from the Japanese one. The plan was for the marriage to take place some point after Yuuri had won gold but his Russian rival had snatched that from underneath them.

"Well, thanks to our little Yurio we'll have to amend that promise won't we?" Victor beamed.

"You won't wait till he does it then?" Christophe challenged with a rueful smile.

"Katsudon will have to beat me first," Yuri grinned.

"Confident of yourself, are you?" Victor winked. Yuri had only snagged on to Victor's little shenanigans after the competition was over. Victor had let slip Yuuri's intention to retire once he had won gold. If anyone actually asked Yuri he'd deny it but a part of him admired the Japanese skater. Yuri viewed him as his rival first and foremost; his consistent improvement over the last year had proved he was still a force to be reckoned with when the rest of the world counted him out. He was obnoxiously 'nice', polite and caring but truthfully Yuri begrudgingly appreciated it. Yuuri was good for Victor which meant the infernal man was out of Yuri's hair, if only for a while.

The prospect of Yuuri's retirement was enough to push Yuri to new heights and win.

"He has every reason to be," A voice, calm and stoical came from behind them. Yuri turned around on his heel, immediately blushing.

Otabek advanced on them with Phichit trailing behind him clutching two glasses of champagne. By the look of the all-knowing smirk he'd probably already had a few and the infamous naughty side would be making an appearance fairly soon.

"Congratulations, Yuri. You were brilliant," Otabek bowed his head softly. Yuri thought there were hints of a smile there but often it was hard to tell. Otabek remained firmly composed almost all the time and he'd had little time to learn any cracks in the Kazakh's armour.

"ah uh. Thank you. All done with the right encouragement," At this he glared at Victor. "Your set was impressive. The jumps were harder than you've ever done before. I hope you'll be competition for me next year."

"You bet I will."

"Come on, I wanna raid the buffet before all the good stuff is gone." Yuri grabbed hold of Otabek's arm, dragging him from the group. "Thank fuck I thought I was gonna be there forever. I just know we'll end up with Victor being all poetic and romantic and shit."

"I come again as your saviour," Otabek teased.

"Thanks again for the..ah...the rescue from the fans. Some of them from the fan group are genuinely a bit mental." Yuri had pretty much filled his plate by now but proceeded to pile in layers, much to Otabek's surprise.

"No thanks needed. I was already on my way to you anyway." Yuri blushed ever so slightly at that, cursing himself for his complete inability to hide any form of emotion from his face. He was lucky he happened to be facing away from the Kazakh.

"Well I'm still grateful. I didn't know you could ride a motorbike, that's pretty cool. Always wanted to learn but never got round to it." He wasn't entirely sure whether he really wanted to learn or just wanted to piss Yakov and Victor but either worked fine for him.

"I can teach you, sometime, if you like," Otabek mused.

"I'd like that!" 

They talked freely and easily over dinner while the rest of them became evermore inebriated. Yuri noted that Otabek didn't touch alcohol once; conversely Otabek privately disapproved of Yuri's drinking since he believed him to be underage. They talked about their way into skating, a little bit on one another's family (though Yuri was quite uncomfortable talking about his parents and so Otabek left that well alone for now), they even talked about their school life.

"What are your plans until the next season starts?" Yuri mused.

"Well I need to practice. Almaty doesn't have a rink large enough for the routines so I used to practice abroad, used to be in Detroit with Phichit and Leo," Otabek shrugged. "Yourself?"

The question was deliberate. Spending time video calling or messaging one another was one thing but you never really got to know someone like that. Perhaps for the first time in his life Yuri was genuinely curious about someone. He wanted to learn, wanted to indulge his desire to know what he could about the Kazakh. Wait, that sounded corny as fuck.

 "I want to go home to my grandfather but otherwise nothing..." Yuri trailed off. Silently he prayed his answer would push in the right direction. 

Otabek sat for a moment, clearly churning over thoughts in his mind. It was times like this Yuri wanted to peer through those dark eyes and see the soul underneath. He yearned to know more about the enigmatic Kazakh but scant few details came. He was a mystery, one that had Yuri firmly within it's grip. If Otabek had been a book, Yuri would have been staying awake late at night frantically racing through chapter after chapter.

No such revelations came easily from Otabek though. He remained as stoic as ever; whatever it was his friend was thinking wouldn't be revealed until the right time came.

"Forgive me if this is forward but you could come to America with me for a holiday, if you want?" Otabek was hesitant as he said it, desperately trying to read something from Yuri's face.

"I thought you'd never fucking ask," Yuri let out a heavy sigh of relief leaving Otabek stunned. Bingo!

"Sorry?"

"I want to get away from Russia for a while without having a competition or Victor's dramas hanging over everything."

Inside, both of them were punching the air.

"Do you live with the other guys?" Yuri asked hesitantly. Yuuri and Phichit's instagram accounts were both littered with shots of them both as they shared rooms when they trained there; he imagined Yuuri and Victor would end up off to Japan again for the training season so that left the whole dynamic changed.

"No, I lived on my own. Guang-hong and Leo I think are sharing this year. Not sure about Phichit; Wouldn't be surprised if he tags along with those two," Otabek paused for a moment, trying to appreciate the message behind the question. "There is a hotel down the road from where I live if you'd prefer."

"Pffft, fuck that. I'd prefer to stay with you....if that's okay, of course," Yuri quickly added. Otabek smiled for the first time and nodded.

"How long for?"

"I'll book the plane out and see how we go. Week maybe? Who knows."

Within 15 minutes, each of them had booked the flight to Detroit.

* * *

 

 

Yuri glanced at his phone, barely paying any attention to the instagram posts he scrolled through. Guang-Hong and Leo in a restaurant somewhere in Barcelona, Christophe had retreated home to Switzerland so of COURSE a half naked selfie in a hot tub came out, Victor and Yuuri being sickening with fans at the airport a few hours ago. Ugh.

A vibration caught his attention.

_I'm nearing the departure lounge. Are you there?_

Yakov had insisted on driving Yuuri to the airport himself, accompanied by a lengthy lecture about remaining in good shape. He didn't object to the holiday in America with Otabek but urged Yuri to be sensible. They both knew it'd fallen on deaf ears but it made him feel better to say it.

Consequently Yuri had beaten the Kazahk by around half an hour. The rented motorbike had gone back the night before leaving him to try and work out the Spanish public transport signs. He'd only got a  _little_ bit lost on the way to the airport. Soon enough he'd be there.

 _Yeah, hurry up. Paps are on the prowl >:(_.

The Russian had eluded most of them by deliberately donning a very plain get up for his usual taste and making a break for the business lounge before anyone realised who he was. Predators, however, stalk their prey once they've got the scent for it. It'd only be a matter of time. The suitcase was a bit of a giveaway given it had the world's most enormous tiger on it. It couldn't be more Yuri if it tried really.

A few minutes later, Otabek plonked himself down next to him. The mere presence of his friend was enough to make his heart beat a little faster; was it anticipation? Was it...well what was it? Who the fuck knew.

"I've never flown business class before," Otabek said quietly looking at the ticket putting him right next to Yuri somewhere in front of the wing.

"Really?"

"Yeah. My country isn't exactly flush with cash." Yuri cursed himself for being a little bit inconsiderate. He often forgot that ice skating was actually one of Russia's most prestigious sports nevermind the disparity between financial means of Russia and Kazakhstan as a whole. This would be a dynamic between them that needed a little bit of work.

"I didn't think of that..."

"Don't worry about it," Otabek smiled warmly. "It's a treat for me."

"Fuck going on a journey this long in economy," Yuri muttered to himself earning a small chuckle from Otabek. Their flight carried them from Barcelona to Paris and then on to Detroit, 12 hours or so in total with an hour layover. 

Yuri took the moment to look at Otabek who was inquisitively testing the padding in the lounge's seats. He wore that military style coat he'd sported when they went out in Barcelona a few nights ago with the same grey scarf, matched to a pair of narrow skinny jeans and heavy biker boots. His bag was small; probably just enough to carry bare essential changes of clothes and skating equipment. Usually his hair was slicked back but today he'd let it lie a little giving it a natural, messed look. Yuri had to admit it suited him.

Otabek caught him looking and smirked.

"What are you thinking?" Yuri blushed a little.  _Blunt, as ever._

"I just noticed you had your hair down, thats all." Yuri too had gone much less bold than usual. Obscenely tight jeans were a must but there were no tears in them and the t-shirt, a deep chocolate colour only had a slightly lower neckline than normal. He wore his heavy black jacket with the hood up, framing that main of golden hair left flowing to his shoulders. A pair of plain black hi-tops sat at his feet.

"I went for comfort above looks."

"Suits you."

As if timed to save him from any further embarrassment, their gate called.

Otabek continued in bewilderment as the business class passengers including him were given priority boarding. He spent far to long playing with the reclining functions on the seats, much to Yuri's amusement.

The short connection flight was over before either of them could realised. They took the opportunity to wolf down some utterly dreadful fast food from a place in the terminal before making for the main flight.

Each of them were welcomed to the flight with a glass of champagne (again, causing a stir of disapproval from Otabek). Though Yuri was within a hairs' breadth of the drinking age in his own country, French law which governed the Airfrance service was a little more relaxed on the subject from what he could gather. Still it was hardly his place to decide for his companion.

The inflight entertainment was shocking and neither of them even bothered with it. Instead, they chatted idly amongst themselves to pass time.

"I've got it," Yuri said to himself decisively.

"It being?" 

"Do you mind if I call you Beka?" Otabek, for the first time ever, showed the slightest embers of a blush on his face.

"Um...no, no I don't."

"Good. But don't let anyone else use it, it's mine."

"My full name IS lengthy I suppose."

"you're telling me."

"What of you? I heard the others referred to you as Yurio..." Yuri turned to him with venom in his eyes.

"Don't even fucking think about it." Beka looked at the young Russian quizzically. Yuri sighed. "Look, Katsudon's stupid sister called me it to distinguish between me and him when I flew out to Japan. I swear Victor just says it to piss me off." Beka thought that was almost certainly true.

"I heard Yakov call you Yarutchka but..." Yuri's eyes glazed a little bit. It was his grandfather Nikolai's favourite phrase. "I can see that carries a little meaning for you. How about Yura?'

Yuri considered for a moment before smiling broadly and nodding. "But only to you."

"Well of course, it's my nickname and I'm going to claim it."

Wolfing down a meal in the airport turned out to be rather a mistake as the inflight meal options were both vast and frankly gorgeous. Yuri certainly didn't do his justice but Otabek had a good stab at it. By now the night mood lighting had settled in, bathing the cabin in the dimmest of lights. Otabek was never very good at sleeping on a plane; something about the noise and the seats made it hard. Admittedly these business seats might just be the ticket for half of that problem but he doubted he'd be able to properly sleep.

He'd barely noticed when Yuri had drifted asleep, his legs stretched as far as they could in the cabin and his head resting gently against Otabek's shoulder.

Did Otabek mind? No he did not. Not one little bit.

He laid back, reflecting on what he'd achieved that year. He'd come long in enormous leaps and bounds since he first qualified for international competitions; yes, he didn't make the podium but this was the closest he had ever been to it. Even Yuri had commented that his skating had taken on a generally different level of late.

Of course it had. He'd spent the last few years desperately playing catch up to the child prodigy that was Yuri Plisetsky. Ever since they met at that summer class (which Yuri had appeared to forget about), he had felt drawn toward the Russian. The best way to achieve that was to try and equal him, no matter the cost. It would take hard work and raw determination to overcome the talent deficit he had; thankfully, hard work and raw determination were Otabek's bread and butter.

Yet once again the Russian had leapt forward by a stratospheric level and took the gold in his first ever senior competition, setting a world record while he did it. Otabek doubted he'd ever truly be a match for Yuri but it didn't matter; it was the foot in the door he needed and so far it had paid off.

He thought of home. Or at least, he thought of Almaty and his family. Otabek had always considered home to be where his focus was at that given time. Home might have been the ice rink if he was determined to beat a particular routine. It might have been the little apartment in Detroit if he spent time studying there. Otabek was a man defined by his convictions and not his sentiments, or so he thought.

He'd left behind his mother, father and siblings a few years ago. He periodically went home for a few days, usually when a competition was in Russia as the flights were reasonably short, but he never stayed long. It wasn't that he had ill-will to home at all; it was more he had been ready for a very early age to find his adult home.

One day, he hoped home would be someone who meant the world to him. The proverb 'home is where the heart is' was apt, he decided.

He thought of the amazing friends he had begun to gather. Phichit, Guang-hong and Leo accepted him into their friendgroup without question. Though each of them had vastly different personalities to him, they contrasted one another extremely well. In fact, Phichit had become rather a confidante on the rare occasions Otabek felt like opening up.

He'd had the opportunity to introduce himself to Victor, Christophe and Yuuri. Though they had scarce shared many words, they were each veterans of the competition with the talent and ability one would do well to emulate. Victor of course was a living legend but both Christophe and Yuuri had each done their part to form legends of their own. He had to admit to being a teeny bit awestruck in their company.

Finally, there was Yura who was currently snoring at his side. Otabek had finally had the opportunity and the courage to actually make his move. That trademark facade of calm was merely ice over an unsettled sea of emotion beneath. Anticipation, fear, anxiety; all of them had reared their ugly head before Otabek had thrown all caution to the wind and gone out with Yuri that fateful day. Most of the skating world idolised Victor but not him; Otabek had trained  _with_ his idol and seen his awesome ability first hand. Not only that but Yuri had seen fit to allow him into his life even if only to a little extent.

Yeah, he'd done good this year. But no competitor is ever happy with 'good'.

 


End file.
